My husband does better at the grosser parts of parenting than I do. The other day when he was changing her and a little piece of poop got on his leg, he said ewww gross and that was about it. Me, I would have gone ballistic and probably stripped naked and ran a scalding hot shower, curled up in the tub in a fetal position, and whimpered to myself for half an hour. You would think since the kid was actually inside of me for nine months I would be more comfortable with her bodily functions than I am, but I’m not.
I am getting used to one gross part, though. All the snot that comes out of my baby like she is some kind of snot fountain does not have the same effect on me that it used to. I’ve even been tempted to eat her snot. Let me explain … it was when she had a horrid cold, on top of having just grown in some wretched teeth, so it was winding up to be one painful month for her. As she sat in my lap sniffling and wheezing so bad it seemed she could hardy breathe, I whispered into the top of her head, “Oh baby, I would take the cold from you if I could.” My husband walked by and added, “She would, too. I know your mother and if she could take your cold she would.”
Later that night as she was up for the twelfth time and I nursed her yet again, I wondered if my body was making any antibodies yet for her and then wondered if I could make antibodies without having the cold myself and thought I should eat her snot. And this is love: wanting to eat your babies snot so you can make her better.